


A Cold Fate

by Unquiet_Words



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Humor, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sharing a Bed, the One Bed trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-11 22:06:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17455142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unquiet_Words/pseuds/Unquiet_Words
Summary: Izuna did not sign up for this shit, but the universe hardly cares what he thinks.





	A Cold Fate

Fate, it seemed, was out to get him.

Logic made it all too clear that there could be no such thing as a coincidence. The world was much too intelligently designed for that nonsense, events fitting too perfectly together, creating the exact image of his hellish doom. His leg a bloody mess propped up on his pack, the freezing wind howling as it beat against the old cabin, the bed dipping as his brother crawled in next to him and his mind racing to figure out  _how_ , exactly, he’d managed to get in this mess in the first place.

For starters, he never should have even  _been_  on the mission. His role as Head Director at the academy near guaranteed his imprisonment in the village, the endless stacks of paperwork shackling him to his desk until even the crickets had settled off to bed. But Hikaku had, for the first time in Izuna’s stellar memory, fallen ill - so ill, in fact, that he was completely out of commission, not so much as able to  _look_ at a bowl of rice porridge without doubling over to dry-heave.

One shinobi out for the count was hardly enough to drag Izuna back into active duty, of course. There were several qualified shinobi in Konoha’s ranks that could’ve handled the more delicate espionage portion of the mission. And even having to work alongside Madara - notoriously irascible, intractable Madara - wasn’t enough to push  _all_  of them away.

Except, apparently, fate was just as stubborn as his elder brother, and twice as cruel. Because at least a  _dozen_  different shinobi had passed on the mission,  _including_  the over-professional prick of a Senju who had personally cited Madara as his reason (in quite colorful terms, colorful enough to leave Madara fuming for a full three days, ready to blow a gasket at the slightest mention of  _any_  Senju).

All of that just to get him on the damned mission. But the universe hadn’t stopped there, because being forced to spend alone time in the field, one-on-one, often in close quarters with his brother hadn’t been cruel enough for whoever pulled on fate’s strings.

His second point of evidence the kami were out to get him? How utterly  _useless_  the massive amounts of intel they’d had to pour over had been. Using the map had been worse than trying to find the hideout blindfolded, some landmarks misplaced and others flat-out  _missing_. And he could’ve gone on a days long rant about the hideout itself.

Deserted. Coated in dust and not a speck of it disturbed for what must have been  _months_  before they had snuck their way in. Not even the rats had stuck around, leaving the both of them standing dumbstruck and irate in the underground maze of bare walls and empty rooms.

Mostly empty, anyway. Because Izuna and bad luck were becoming life partners despite his best efforts. All it took was a single second of distraction brought on by the arch of his brother’s back, on display in all of its erotic glory, and a thin strip of ninja wire in a doorway, and suddenly his leg was being shredded to pieces.

If it hadn’t been for the metal shrapnel buried in his calf, his brother could’ve simply sealed the wound for him and they could’ve been along their merry way. Instead, he had to lean full bodily onto him while they went off in search of somewhere clean enough to act as a make-shift infirmary, the whole while getting his ear chewed off by the very person who had oh so rudely distracted him in the first place.

The weather was the final piece that made him want to throw himself to the ground, to surrender to the whims of whatever had decided to ruin him. It had been a mild winter at worst up until that point, hardly more than a dusting having frosted the trees that gave Konoha its name. But that had been back when he was at home, with little more than a ten minute walk to anywhere he’d need to go in a hurry.

Now, when they were a several day’s journey away from the safety of their village gates, of  _course_  it would decide to full on sleet all over them. Even his excellent chakra control couldn’t keep his temperature regulated, and despite the living bonfire pressed to his side his teeth were soon chattering hard enough he was certain they would shatter.

By the time they had made any sort of progress towards the nearest settlement (or what the useless scrap of paper passing for a map had  _said_  was a town), the icy snow mix had already started to coat them, the road disappearing in a blur of white. On the bright side, his calf being so cold had slowed down the blood loss to a trickle, so theoretically they had more time to find a suitable place to treat his wound.

On the downside, he could no longer feel his anything.

Madara must have spotted or sensed something, because he had stopped for a moment, but Izuna couldn’t even hear his own thoughts passed the wind roaring in his ears. He did feel the sharp sting when his brother turned to face him, all of that mane whipping and assaulting his face and no doubt leaving red angry marks all across it. Luckily, his brother tugged him along only a few moments later, changing course to head towards the treeline.

Exactly how his brother had known there would be shelter there, Izuna was too scared to ask. The door had been frozen shut, though one would have to be a fool to think that would stop his brother from barreling in anyway, tossing Izuna onto the nearest surface and ignoring the yelp it tore out of him.

At least once Madara got a fire going, the worst of the cold was kept at bay. It did little to help stave off the pain as his brother dug the metal out of his shin, and his complaining only earned in a sharp look and an even  _longer_  winded lecture than before.

“Sit  _still_ , brat!” His thigh was swatted as he began to squirm once more, the words hissed despite how delicately Madara was working the needle to stitch up his wound. “Exactly  _how long_  have you been a shinobi? A single year?  _One month_?”

“Shut up, it  _hurts_! How would you like something pinching into your wound?”

“I’ve had stitches before, idiot. They’re not that bad.” Even if his words were harsh, Izuna could feel his grip soften, and knew without looking his brother was doing his best to lessen the pain. All he could do at the moment was stare up at the roof and count the spiders, wrinkling his nose at the thought of having them as roommates for the night.

“That should do it.” Just as Izuna was about to sigh in relief, liquid fire ran over his wound, making him hit the bed beneath him with a fist. He sat up as soon as he could feel his leg again, doing his best to slaughter his brother with a single look. It only earned him a raised eyebrow, Madara busying himself putting away the med supplies and burning the bloodied bandages. “Try not to trip over air again anytime soon, will you?”

“I wasn’t tripping over- oh, fuck you.” He flopped himself down on the pillow, grinding his teeth and averting his gaze while Madara  _stripped in front of him_. At least he had the decency to put something back on, though he left his chest bare, no doubt to torture him even more with what he wasn’t allowed to run his hands and tongue all over.

But when the bed dipped down next to him, he knew full well he wouldn’t survive the night. All he could do was stare in horror as Madara crawled into the small bed with him, tugging his face right into that chest he wanted to get his mouth on.

Whatever noise tore out of his throat then at least caused his brother to pause, the look on his face split between confusion and ‘what the hell is wrong with you this time’?

Izuna, ever the master at recovery, managed to choke out a “shut up” before his brain could catch up with what was happening. He shook his head and refused to look up, bringing his voice back to a more acceptable octave as he continued. “I’m not  _twelve_  anymore, aniki. Shouldn’t we be sleeping  _not_  together?” He had to sent a quick order to  _not go there_  to the growing bulge in his pants at his own wording, doing his best to roll over enough to hide his shame.

“Where else is there to sleep? On the floor?” With little regard to Izuna’s inner dilemma, Madara wrapped him up tighter in his arms, taking a deep breath before settling right in to sleep.

By the next morning, the wind had died down to a whisper, the blessed heat of the sun returning to melt the worst of the snow. Madara slept in til near noon and woke up surprisingly refreshed, a pleasant and quiet smile on his lips as he moved about the dusty old cabin. Izuna had slept nary a wink and growled the whole day, narrowed and bleary eyes glaring at the culprit of both his lack of sleep and aching  _problem_. At least the last few days of their journey home gave him plenty of time to plot his revenge, and he  _most certainly_  planned to make his brother pay. Once he gathered up the courage to pounce him, there would be nothing in the world that would make Izuna go easy on him.


End file.
